Disclaimer: Death Note and all related characters belong to Obha and Obata. The inspiration for this fic was "Better Than Drugs" by Skillet. Obviously, the song belongs to the band.

A/N: I'm writing in fields that contain very touchy subjects. This is for very mature audiences only. If you don't like/tolerate 1) Yaoi, 2) substance abuse (i.e. drugs and alcohol) or 3) religious topics, click the back button now. For those that wish to proceed, I warn you, this is a very dark fic at times. I can't promise that all statements I make (for example, drug use symptoms, religious beliefs) are entirely accurate. I have done my research, but I am not perfect. Feel free to correct me if you find an error, it will be greatly appreciated. That being said, I hope you enjoy this fic.

"MAIL! WAKE UP YOU USELESS LITTLE FUCKER!"

Yep. That's me. Mail Jeevas, better known as Matt around the town. I'm fifteen years old and more than likely going to hell faster than anyone you've ever met. I'm not only the one who feeds the man and woman I have the extreme misfortune of living with, I've also probably got a longer paper trail than most ex-cons that have been incarcerated for over fifty years. Bet you're wondering how that's even possible for a fifteen-year old. Two words. My parents. They're drug addicts, more than likely addicted to everything that's humanly possible for you to get your hands on in this country and I'm the one that has to provide for it. Of course, I feed my own addiction as well. I'm addicted to nicotine, ecstasy, heroin, cocaine, LSD. You name it, I've more than likely tried it and become addicted to it. I work two full-time jobs on top of going to school. Yet, somehow through it all, I've still managed to stay the third smartest kid in our high school. Even I'm not quite sure how I do it. But I do. Which is probably the only reason why my sorry ass isn't rotting away in jail right now.

"Okay, okay! I'm up, dammit!" I yelled, rolling out of bed and accidentally stepping on Winchester, the family's German Shepard. How we keep the thing healthy is beyond me. "Sorry, boy," I muttered as I scratched his ears gently while he sent me a half-irritated look. I was the only one who's room he would sleep in for some reason. He refused to sleep anywhere else in the house. I grabbed a change of clothes and made my way to the bathroom to take a shower and start to get ready for school, only to run in to my dad in the hall, stoned as per usual lately. Well, that or so drunk off his ass he was vomiting everywhere. I'm still not sure which is more annoying.

"Don't you cuss at me, boy. I'm still your damn father," he said angrily, standing in my way.

"Don't call me a useless little fucker then!" I shot back. He did not need to piss me off this early in the morning, but he was already well on his way. "I'm the one that works to pay the fucking bills around here. I'm the one that puts food on the table. And I'm the one that pays to feed yours and Mom's GODDAMN DRUG HABIT!" After saying that, I felt myself breathing hard. I needed a fucking cigarette. I shoved past him roughly and slammed the bathroom door.

Twenty minutes later, I came downstairs to make myself breakfast, which consisted of cereal and milk. They could get their own damn breakfast. Not even giving a fuck, I took my breakfast out onto the front porch. I pulled out my pack and lit one, taking a much needed drag. "Fucking hell," I sighed. I hated being angry. It was more tiring than work was. Somehow though, the bastard knew just how to get under my skin. Luckily, I was able to finish my breakfast and my first cigarette of the day in peace. After taking my dishes back inside and washing and drying them, I grabbed my backpack and made my way to school.

0o0o

Parking my car in the parking lot, I grabbed my bag off of the back seat and started walking to the main building.

"Yo! Matt, what's up, man?"

I glanced back in exasperation over my shoulder to see Troy making his way over to me. Of course. He owed me for the last batch I gave him, and he was no doubt coming for more. "What?"

"You know how you let me off with the rocks last time, bro?" he asked.

I hated when he called me that. I was not his brother. He was simply someone who came to me for drugs. Nothing more, nothing less. And usually, he paid well. Usually. "Yeah, you still owe me for that. This job's not easy, you know. Nor is it cheap. I got people to pay myself."

"Yeah, but see, Dad's getting laid off from work and-"

"No." I held up my hand cutting him off mid-sentence. "I don't personally give a fuck about your home life, Troy. I don't need to know. What I need, is the money you owe me. Now, I've already let you off one time, which I shouldn't have done, mind you. I need, no, I want my payment now."

"I'm broke, dude," he protested. "But I can pay you some other way."

"I need the money."

"I can give you something better," he said, grinning.

I rolled my eyes. Of course. I knew exactly what he "thought" he could give me. Some random fuck that had probably already been screwed twenty times to hell and back. Right. Like I really wanted that. But, I played along...for the moment. As I always did. "And what could you possibly give me, Troy? I'm the third most intelligent student in this school. If I had you do an assignment for me, I'd do worse on it than if I did it myself. And no, I don't need a good "lay", either. I'm perfectly fine, thank you. I want my money." The act was over now. "Get me the fucking money by tomorrow afternoon, or I will hang you from the flagpole with your intestines." I hissed angrily. There was a reason some people called me "Mad Matt". They thought I was crazy. Hell, maybe I was. But it kept people away from me, and it got me paid. That was all I was worried about.

Troy gulped noticeably and nodded, before running inside the doors, just as the bell rang.

I sighed. Another long day at school. At least my teachers had learned by now that when I was tired, it was best to just give me the assignment and back the fuck off. Not like I needed their explanations on a normal day, either, really. After walking to my locker, I shoved my books inside and grabbed my history book before walking to the social sciences wing. Making my way into class, I slipped to the back of the room and slid into my seat.

"Ah, nice of you to join us, Matt," Mr. Henderson said, still seated at his desk in the front of the room.

I shrugged and didn't bother to stifle my tired yawn.

"Long night, Matt?" he asked as he stood up and began handing out the assignments.

"Yeah," I answered.

"Ah, well. You should be happy to hear that today is a free day then."

What? He had to be fucking pulling my leg. Mr. Henderson never gave us free days.

"This assignment, which is to be done outside of class, is due two weeks from now. It is worth half of your final grade for this semester. The other half will be another essay assigned at a later date. I will allow a select few to go to the library and begin working today. Keep in mind that this is the only day I will allow you to work on it," he said. "After today, the assignment will be completed at home. And, there will be ten bonus points for the first five people that turn it in early."

No. Fucking. Way. This wasn't a damn free day. This was a "I'm giving you an assignment to do, and I'm giving you one day to do it in class so you better take advantage of it because otherwise you'll never get it done." Of all things. I had enough to do. I didn't need a fucking essay!

"Alright. I will allow five students to go to the library today."

Fuck. I didn't want to even set foot in the library after that last argument I'd gotten into with the librarian. Excuse me for knowing something that a woman who went to college for over ten years didn't know. Whatever. Past problems with staff aside, I had to get to work on this project. I had to work every night this week. There was no way I'd get it done otherwise. I thrust my hand into the air.

"Ah, Matt, you'll take the initiative this time?"

He was baiting me. I knew it. But I wasn't going to snap. At least, not today. "Yes, sir. I mean, I'll have next to no time to work on it at home because I'm working every night for the next two weeks. I need to get as much done today as possible." Hell, I even smiled, like the good little fifteen-year old genius I was.

Mr. Henderson's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, almost as if he were trying to see some lie in what I'd told him. Eventually, the look disappeared, and he actually laughed. "Very well. Who else will join Matt in taking the initiative in this class today?"

No one raised their hand. Typical.

In the end, Mr. Henderson simply wrote passes for five people, including myself, and shooed us out of the room.

The second I stepped through the door and into the library, I felt the librarian at the desk glare at me angrily.

I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out childishly at her. Why did I give a fuck if she was still mad at me? It was her own damn fault for not knowing that it was Vivianne Crowely who claimed that the deities in Wicca were merely Jungian archetypes in the subconscious of a Wiccan. Sorry, but I don't exactly back down when I know that I know something. It's just me. And yeah, I'm not Wiccan, myself. Religions are just somewhat interesting to study. Like how the pentagrams that Wiccans and many pagan religions consider important was once a part of the Christian faith as representing the five points of Christ. And yet, nowadays, Christians say that the pentagram is a symbol of Satan.

She snorted and turned around to a cart behind her.

Fuck her. As if I cared. Let's see, back to why I was here. Essay topic, what was it? I pulled my notebook out of my bag and glanced at the assignment. How interesting. Mr. Henderson wanted me to write an essay on the history of a pagan or non-pagan religion. Wonderful. What was this, a religion class now? I sighed, putting my notebook away and slinging my backpack back over my shoulder as I made my way to the religion section. Which, unfortunately for me, was very limited on the resources. He was trying to fail me, wasn't he? Wait. Why the fuck did I need these books? I probably knew almost as much as an actual practitioner of any one of these religions, pagan and non-pagan alike.

I sighed. Sometimes I really hated this school. I tossed my backpack onto a nearby table, pulled out a pen and a sheet of paper and sat down. Now, what to do it on?

"What is this? Fucking Micmac?"

My head snapped around at the voice.

There was a rather skinny blond, clad all in black, with a bob cut that, oddly, looked really good on him, standing in the computer programming section.

Rolling my eyes, I got up and walked over. "Looking for something?" I asked, leaning back against the bookshelves behind him.

"Yeah."

"And?"

"How the fuck should I know?" he bristled. "I don't understand half this fucking shit. It's all in some weird language."

I noticed he crossed himself after he finished speaking. "Catholic?"

"Yeah," he answered, sending me a sidelong glance.

I nodded dismissively. It wasn't as if I particularly cared, honestly. I still couldn't fathom why I was helping him in the first place anyway. "Right, well, this is computer programming. Most of the language in these books is either binary code or very, very advance programming codes. Why they even have books of this level in a high school I still haven't figured out."

He was looking at me like a fish out of water. It was honestly sort of funny. I got that look a lot. My vocabulary always went over peoples' heads. I resisted laughing though.

"That still makes no sense, idiot! I may be a genius, but that doesn't mean I know what the crap you're talking about," he snapped.

I sighed. "Alright, do you have your assignment? I take it you have Mr. Negron, right? His assignments are normally pretty thoroughly explained."

"Uh, yeah, here." He bent down and dug through his bag before pulling out a sheet of paper and handing it to me. "I really have no clue about any of this stuff. I feel sort of like an idiot."

"Don't worry. A lot of people have a hard time understanding it at first," I explained. I glanced over the paper. "Hmm. So you have to write a paper on the basic programming of a website and create your own on any subject you choose. Do you have a subject yet?"

"Not...really. I was sort of wanting to figure out exactly what the hell I had to do and write the report before I actually picked the subject. That, and I don't know shit about computers." There was that unconscious crossing again after cursing.

If I let it, that would probably become annoying. That was, if I let myself stay around him longer than to help him; which was highly unlikely.

"Okay, well, if you like, I can help you."

"You'd do that?"

"Of course," I answered smoothly. I pushed myself off of the shelves and handed him his paper back as I scanned the shelves. "Now, let's see. I have a pretty extensive knowledge of programming in general. I actually helped Mr. Negron build his laptop from scratch."

"Really?" he said disbelievingly.

"Yep. Oh, how horrible of me. I've just realized we haven't even been properly introduced. I'm Matt," I said.

"Mello."

I nodded. "Alright. Now, as much knowledge as I have, Negron still wants references, to prove you actually did the research. He even makes me do it, can you imagine?" I joked. I pulled three programming books from the shelf. "This should be enough. My stuff's over here, if you want to sit where I was. I was working on a paper myself."

"Oh? Well, it wouldn't be fair for you to help me but receive nothing in return," Mello returned evenly. "So, maybe I can help you. What do you have to write an essay on?"

"It's for history," I said. "I have two weeks to write a paper on a pagan or non-pagan religion."

The blond pursed his lips in thought for a moment before saying, "Why not write it on Catholicism?"

I tilted my head to the side in curiosity. "Why?"

"Well, there's no way either of us are finishing these papers today. So, I dunno, maybe we could help each other over the next two weeks. You can tell me how to do all that techie stuff, and I can tell you about being Catholic," he answered.

I laughed; I really couldn't help it. "Mello, I hate to break it to you, but there's a pretty good chance I know just as much about your religion as you do. If not more."

"There's no way in hell you know more than me," he countered, crossing himself as he did so.

I rolled my eyes. "You wanna make a bet? I know about a lot of things, alright? I proved to little Miss Wicca-fanatic over there," here I nodded to the librarian, "who specifically made the claim that allowed Wiccans to also claim atheism instead of mono or duo-theism. I know who first created Wicca, Thelema, Setanism, Satanism, Christianity, Buddhism, Judaism, Islam, Muslim, and Shintoism. I know how long they've existed, not only as 'cults' but as fully-fledged religions. I know when they were formed, when they were divided into different branches. You know the pentagram?"

"Yeah, it's a mark of Satan," Mello said confidently.

"Wrong. It's used by Wiccans as a pentacle. A sacred object, if you will. Originally, it was even used by Christians to signify the five points of Christ. There are two different versions of the pentagram: a good and an evil. The "good" pentagram is one point up, two points down and represents spirit over matter. The "bad" is one point down, two points up and represents matter over spirit. Wiccans are not wholly pagan, nor are they worshipers of Satan. They believe in a balance of good."

"Look, you know what?" he said. "I get it, alright? You obviously know more than I do. But...wouldn't it make your paper better if you didn't only have facts on a religion, but beliefs straight from the mouth of a practitioner of that religion?"

I blinked. I'd been so sure he was just about to tell me to simply forget helping him, that he'd figure it out himself. But...he didn't. In fact, it seemed as if he was attempting to develop some sort of working relationship with me, and possibly even a friendship. Oh well. He seemed nice enough. "Alright. I'll do my paper on Catholicism. On one condition."

"And that being?"

"That you help me with it."

He grinned. "Alright. I suppose I can help you. So long as you'll help me with my paper."

"Of course."